Here's to the Nights
by Azure K Mello
Summary: COMPLETE! Spike reflects on his life to date. SLASH
1. Angst

Title: Here's to the Nights  
  
Rating: R  
  
Author: Azure K Mello  
  
Disclaimer: Joss, Eve6, not me.  
  
Part: 1/1 or should I go on? I don't know. Tell me? I'm thinking alternative ending.  
  
Pairing: Angel/Spike .  
  
Spoilers: End of Days. Cannon? That's a four letter word.  
  
Warning: Mega Angstage, like coming out the ears.  
  
Thanks Poison.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Spike sat with hunched shoulders. The tears streamed down his face as he wrote the letter. It was the last he would ever write so he didn't mind the fact that it was ten pages long. It didn't matter in the end. Everything he'd thought was so important was now only childish and asinine in his eyes. All he'd ever wanted was his sire. He could kid himself, fool himself into believing he wanted Dru or Buffy. But in the end it always came back to Angel. In the end he could no more lie to himself than he could tell Angel the genuineness of his emotions. All he wanted was to be home in those arms.  
  
So denied so I lied are you the now or never kind In a day and a day love I'm gonna be gone for good again  
  
Are you willing to be had are you cool with just tonight  
  
Here's a toast to all those who hear me all too well  
  
In his own way he hated Angel. He pretended that this was all he felt for the man. It hurt too badly to be honest. For truth be told he resented, and loathed, and loved the man all at once. Often he would act as if Angel weren't his sire. Buffy had liked to believe that Angelus was the monster that wore her lover's face. That was bullshit. Angel was no more a man, no less of a monster, than Angelus. The only difference between his sire's two personalities was that Angel felt guilt. That didn't make him a good man, and it certainly didn't change the fact that he was still Spike's sire. Spike knew it hurt the older vampire to look at him: to see the monster he had created. He knew this; he knew that his sire wanted nothing to do with him. But knowing that the man hated him didn't change how Spike felt. He reveled in the memories of being his sire's favorite childe. Nights filled with blood, and anger, and heat tempered only with the gentle yet all consuming love between them.  
  
Here's to the nights we felt alive  
  
Here's to the tears you knew you'd cry  
  
Here's to goodbye  
  
Tomorrow's gonna come too soon  
  
As Spike sat and stared at the letter he felt something in him break. He signed the letter with shaking hands. "Forever your childe, William". He cried in earnest then no longer worried about finishing the note. His soul, he had gotten it to prove himself to Buffy, or so he had thought. Truly he had gotten it for Angel but he would not admit it, not even to himself. For why would he burden himself so wretchedly for a man who liked to believe he didn't exist? For the man who he'd seen only hours before kissing that girl. Buffy. It always came back to that bitch didn't it? He raised the bottle to his lips. The whisky was cheap and burned but any sensation was better than feeling so dead inside. The thought was odd to him, for he had been dead for over a hundred years. But never until recently had he felt this dead.  
  
Put your name on the line along with place and time  
  
Wanna stay not to go I wanna ditch the logical  
  
Here's a toast to all those who hear me all too well  
  
He looked around the crypt, with salty tear filled eyes. After getting his soul he hadn't been back here. But no demon had moved in, his bed was still made and not slept in. He remembered when he had gotten that bed in Venice. Vampires never had possessions it made them too human; it made it difficult to move all the time. But he had kept the bed, had it shipped everywhere he went. There were too many nights spent in that bed that he wasn't ready, able, or willing to forget. He wrapped his arms around himself as he wept, wishing that he could make himself forget. Move on. Not stuck here without his sire, alone. But he wouldn't be here for much longer.  
  
Here's to the nights we felt alive  
  
Here's to the tears you knew you'd cry  
  
Here's to goodbye  
  
Tomorrow's gone I've come too soon  
  
Pacing, he tried to remember if there was anything he needed to do before sunrise. Could he squander the hours by laying in his own memories? Could he be back in France? Remembering the feasting and the river, the dancing and the girls: so happy they left the boys to their own devices for weeks on end. Lapland; the hunting, the witches, visiting Father Christmas, and going to all the festivals draped in lavish furs they had killed the owners of. The times Angelus had beaten him to within an inch of his unlife, for ruining a plan. He would lay there nearly dust and he would feel Angelus stop in his assault and sigh as he slipped down to the floor next to his childe. Taking him into his arms Angelus would assure the boy that while he was an "idiot childe" his sire loved him nonetheless, that William was the favorite, and that his sire would make him strong again. For days they would lay in bed cocooned and away from the rest of the world. Angelus would feed him childe his own blood and talk in hushed tones of pervious nights and future adventures. And then the ponce went and got a sodding soul. Weeping as the images assaulted him, Spike wondered if the dark vampire would find the letter. Would he read it? Would he care? Why should he? He never had before.  
  
All my time is froze in motion  
  
Can't I stay an hour or two or more  
  
Don't let me let you go  
  
Here's a toast to all those who hear me all too well  
  
Spike wandered drunkenly into the cemetery. The sky was red and everything smelt of dew. Sighing he sat at the foot of Joyce's headstone. He ran his fingers though his curls and laughed. "Goodbye cold fucking world. Excuse the French Joyce, but I hold no compation for this world anymore. It's dead for me. Do you realize that in only moments I will see the first sunrise I've seen in well over a hundred years? And I can't think of anyone I'd rather see it with. I loved the sunrise in life. I used to get up to see it everyday and write bad poetry on the subject. That's the one thing I hated when I was turned. I wasn't allowed to see it anymore. I'd been damn and was denied the pleasure."  
  
Here's to the nights we felt alive  
  
Here's to the tears you knew you'd cry  
  
Here's to goodbye  
  
Tomorrow's gonna come too soon  
  
The morning sun warmed his face as he turned to fire and ash. He was too drunk to feel anything but relief. Angel drove into the cemetery and lunged at the door of the crypt while hidden under a blanket. Buffy had told him that perhaps his childe was here when they hadn't found him at the Summers' house. The coldness of the room scared him, his childe had been here recently but his presence was not there, he was gone. Angel couldn't feel him. That's when he saw the envelope addressed to Liam. That when he vomited. Slowly, with shaking hands he opened the envelope and read his childe's final thoughts. Ten pages of memories, and wishes, and dreams, and confessions.  
  
The room was filled with the acidic and stale smell of vomit and grief. His childe was dead. "I know you don't love me, and while that hurts, it's my problem not yours. Please don't blame yourself, because if you do I'll feel even more awful then I already do. I saw you and her tonight, in that crypt. And all it did was reconfirm what I already knew. I love you and I always will. Forever your childe, William." He howled his grief. Buffy had kissed him; he'd pushed her off and stated yet again that it would never work. She had pouted and demanded why and Angel had been so angry at this point that he had screamed. "Because the only person I've ever truly loved was, is, my William." Angrily she screamed that she and Spike were together. Angel had just laughed, the little girl didn't understand that wherever she and Spike had shared had been transient. And he was right he and Will were forever, he just hadn't realized how short forever could be. The sunlight had never felt so cleansing and pure to Angel as it did that day. 


	2. Not so Angst

Title: Here's to the Nights Alterna Ending  
  
Rating: R  
  
Author: Azure K Mello  
  
Disclaimer: Joss, Eve6, not me.  
  
Part: 1/1 or should I go on? I don't know. Tell me? I'm thinking maybe a series but I don't know where it would lead. This ending takes up it's tale in the mid story so it's kinda obvious the change.  
  
Pairing: Angel/Spike  
  
Spoilers: End of Days. Cannon? That's a four letter word.  
  
Warning: Mega Angstage, like coming out the ears.  
  
Thanks Poison. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Spike wandered drunkenly into the cemetery. The sky was red and everything smelt of dew. Sighing he sat at the foot of Joyce's headstone. He ran his fingers though his curls and laughed. "Goodbye cold fucking world. Excuse the French Joyce, but I hold no compation for this world anymore. It's dead for me. Do you realize that, in only moments, I will see the first sunrise I've seen in well over a hundred years? And I can't think of anyone I'd rather see it with. I loved the sunrise in life. I used to get up to see it everyday and write bad poetry on the subject. That's the one thing I hated when I was turned. I wasn't allowed to see it anymore. I'd been damn and was denied the pleasure."  
  
Here's to the nights we felt alive  
  
Here's to the tears you knew you'd cry  
  
Here's to goodbye  
  
Tomorrow's gonna come too soon  
  
"What are you doing, childe?" Angel demanded, suddenly appearing in front of him.  
...  
Looking up, Spike smiled at his sire. "I'm either drunk and hallucinating or dead."  
"You're not dead though you will be in a minute," Angel said looking at the night's sky, which was rapidly becoming the day's. "Come on, childe. Let's go inside."  
"I'm dead," Spike said with certainty. "You hate me. And why are you calling me childe? You haven't called me that in forever, not in that tone of voice: the one where you're not tryin' to rip every fiber of my being into a thousand pieces."  
"I don't hate you," Angel said, picking up the boy when he realized Spike was paralytic with drink.  
"See 'm dead and the Powers sent you here to keep an eye on meh until they figure out where to put meh. They didn't get you right though. You're not meh sire. He hates me and his hair is better."  
Angel brought a worried hand to his hair. "I've been here all day, and - and - and it's humid here."  
Laughing bitterly Spike said, "Well at least they got one thing right."  
Heavily sighing, Angel dropped the intoxicated vampire on the tomb. "You are no deader than you were last night."  
"You're a fucking liar, Spirit. Why would he be here? I'm not so drunk as to be so easily fooled. He wouldn't be here." He picked up a whisky bottle and Angel batted it away from his lips. Groaning and looking around he said, "The afterlife looks a lot like my crypt. Hey, look, there's my suicide note. I guess the real you on the astral plane 'll find it. Maybe you won't, why would you come here? But I just felt compelled to leave some sort of an explanation."  
"Spike, I assure you: you are *not* dead," Angel said, tired but somehow seeing humor in the horrible scene. "You're very drunk, but not dead."  
"So what will you say, do you think, when you find it? Do you think you'll be upset? Here's what I think, specter sire, I think you're going to sigh a big fucking sigh of relief - because the idiot childe is gone. You don't have to worry about what I'm going to do, what disgrace I'll bring upon you. You're off the hook!" He was hysterical by this point. He fell into the "spirit's" arms. "I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I'm so sorry, m' sorry. But at least you don't have to deal with me anymore."  
"Hush, childe. I'm here now; I want to deal with you. I'll take care of you. You're not a disgrace; you're my favorite. Remember? You may be the 'idiot childe,' but I still love you, always the favorite, Will, and your sire's gonna make you strong again. I promise."  
"I'm dead," Spike stated while his sobs subsided. The announcement made Angel's eyes roll. "I'm dead. And they sent me to heaven by mistake. And when they realize that not only did I commit suicide, but that I did it after living as a vampire, they're going to rip it all away from me."  
Suddenly none of it was funny anymore. "You're not dead, Spike, this isn't heaven, this is Sunnyhell."  
"Or maybe this is some sort of pathetic hell, wherein I'm never sure if I'm dead and am perpetually drunk and told that maybe, just maybe my sire didn't hate me."  
"I want to get you sober, Will. You live downstairs right?"  
Spike nodded. "If you're real then why are you here?"  
Angel swallowed harshly. "Darla came back, a law firm brought her back from being *really* dead. Anyway there was a spell and a prophecy and we had a child. And through another long convoluted string of events he became fifteen in about two weeks and hated me for his not being normal. And I got said law firm to wipe his memory and give him a new "normal" life, with a normal mom and dad and college and siblings and sunlight. And it burned, but not as much as it burned when I thought about the fact that I had willingly let you leave."  
Laughing, Spike said, "I never left. I waited, even when Darla told us you had a "filthy soul" I stayed in Romania waiting for you to come back. The girls left and I waited. But you were so busy hating us all you never came back."  
Laughing with Spike, a matching bitter laugh Angel said, "I didn't think you would be there. I thought you hated me."  
"For getting fucked over? How could I hate you for that? I just wanted you not to hate me."  
"I can't ever hate you, Will."  
"Are you sure I'm no-"  
"You're not dead," Angel said with a smirk, picking his boy up and jumping down the hole that led to the downstairs. He saw the bed and smiled. "You kept it."  
"Of course I did," Spike said, giving him a dirty look as though it should have been obvious. His eyes were red from drink and tears and cigarette smoke. "What?" he asked looking at Angel's face.  
"How sober are you?"  
"Enough to know that I'm not dead, not so much as to make me wish I was. Why?"  
"If I kiss you now are you going to blame the sauce?"  
"You kissed Buffy."  
"She kissed me! I told her to fuck off because I wanted you. She said you were together."  
"Cold comfort: nothing real."  
"I told her as much."  
"If you're not careful she's going to realize you're not half so tortured or nice as you pretend to be."  
"Oh well," Angel said with a sardonic smirk to the boy who knew him better than everyone else.  
"What about your soul? You hated me last time you lost it."  
"I hated you because you were more interested in Dru than in me. So I took her from you to prove a point."  
"How sweet of you."  
"I won't lose it. I love you too much to hurt you. I promise you."  
"How are you so sure?"  
"As your sire I promise you. Have I ever let you down?"  
"Moscow."  
"A hundred and ten years ago I failed to come through on a promise that you could ride the train. And I've black my copybook forever? Dru had a vision, Darla got moody, and Penn killed everything in sight what could I have done, childe? If I had had even *one* of those things under control I would have come through for you. I'd move heaven and earth for you . . . I have moved heaven and earth for you: remember? I opened that portal because you wanted to go to the world with no shrimp."  
"You shouldn't have promised," Spike said sullenly.  
"Will, This is a little more important than a train ride. I promise I won't fuck this up. And I did get you that train ride. It was ten years later but you got it none the less."  
"The conductor was nice and interesting, he had some great stories. He should have cut down on fats his blood was very cholesterol ridden. Keep me?"  
"Forever?" asked Angel with a hesitant smile as though he were afraid to even dare to hope.  
"God yes." Spike smiled as he cuddled into his sire's arms.  
"You sober?"  
"Pretty much."  
"Can I read your suicide note?"  
"No!" Spike said vehemently with a laugh.  
"Oh come on."  
"No! God No."  
"Please?"  
"Why?"  
"It'll be funny."  
"Oh, fuck you, Sire, my suicide note's funny?"  
"You're not dead."  
"Sure I am this is hell, I'm stuck with you for eternity."  
"Take that back."  
"Make me."  
"I'm warning you, childe."  
"Whatcha gonna do? Take me across your knee?"  
"Maybe."  
"Please?"  
"Let me read the note." 


	3. Not Angst at all unless you like Buff ...

Title: Here's to the Nights Alterna Ending Series  
  
Rating: R  
  
Author: Azure K Mello  
  
Disclaimer: Joss, Eve6, not me.  
  
Pairing: Angel/Spike  
  
Spoilers: End of Days. Cannon? That's a four letter word.  
  
Warning: some angst  
  
Thanks Poison.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
At four o'clock Spike's eyes fluttered open. The hangover pounded in his long dead skull. Moaning softly he turned over. His body was rent. He didn't want to open his eyes. Light would be too painful to cope with, even the tiny amount that managed to seep down into the lower level of the Moslem. His whole being was sore, he couldn't remember the last time he had awoken like this. Trying hard to remember why he ached so made his head hurt worse. And so he stood, trying to accept that the night was lost to eternity and that trying to recall it was futile. Linking his fingers above his head he arched his back in an angle that had taken him forty years to figure out and perfect so that he cracked every bone from his finger tips to the base of his spine.  
Slowly and painfully he opened his eyes so that he could make his bed, oh the joys of taking care of oneself while living alone. It had taken him ninety years to learn how to pretend to enjoy eating unaccompanied. There in his bed was the proof that he was, in fact, not alone. He dropped the sheets like a burning cross and stepped back. He pinched his arm 'til he bled: it wasn't a dream. He quickly located his jeans on the floor and pulled them on. Without bothering to fasten the button fly, he flew up to the upper level of the crypt.  
Pacing back and forth, he flipped on the telly hoping to drown out his own thoughts. He searched his jeans for his fags, he got *bloody* angry when they were nowhere to be found. He cursed loudly in about 14 languages before he caught sight of them on the marble top of the tomb. Sighing he lit a fag and leaning back upon the surface, he shut his eyes and tried to think. The talk show's mindless babble effectively stopped him from cognitive thought. He hated waking alone, and he hadn't. Wasn't that a good thing. He pushed himself up onto the tomb but could not comfortably sit, damn Angelus and his need to mark property. But was that what Spike was? Did Angel really want him? To have him, to keep him, to keep him safe? He stubbed out the dog end and instantly lit another fag as Buffy came traipsing through the door.  
The sight in front of her caused her to gasp. "Are you ok? What happened?"  
"I don't remember, but I'm fine," he said softly without looking up from his lit cigarette. "What can I do for you?" he asked still with his eyes averted.  
"I just wanted to see you were ok. Angel said he was going to come looking for you. Did he find you?"  
How could he possibly answer that? "Yeah, he found me." Right where he left me, Spike added in his own mind. How could he tell Buffy what was going on? 'So hey, Buffy, ya know that yer ex is a shirt-lifter, right?' Yes, that gave it the touch of classic elegance. Could he possibly defend the fact that he hadn't stolen Buffy's man but that she had stolen his? His sire, his. . . what, mate? Could he even dare to hope for that? Could he say, well damn it, woman, he's my sire? Was that allowed? Then of course he would have to tell her he lied about Drusilla turning him purely to protect Angel's honor. And that fact brought him back to wondering if it was his place to tell Buffy that her man wasn't in fact hers at all.  
"Was he the one who inflicted all that?"  
"Mostly, yeah." He said softly.  
Her eyes scanned the bruises, scratches, and bites all over his chest, shoulders, and neck. Suddenly a light went on in her head. She sighed heavily. "Does he still have his soul?" Spike looked up at her with pained eyes and nodded. "That's good," she said softly. "So you're going with him?"  
He nodded again, "If he'll have me," he said softly. A snort was the only answer, "I'm sorry this must hurt you, Buff. But I can't be sorry that it's happened."  
"And you shouldn't be. He's your sire," she said and upon seeing the shock in his eyes she laughed, "Oh please, did you really think I bought that whole thing with Dru? She could barely turn a chipmunk. I get that he's your sire and I get that I have no real idea what that means. But I understand how important that is, and I know that what I've had with either of you is nothing compared to what's between you. You should come by the house and grab all the stuff you have there. Sunnydale might not be here later. I can be a grown up," she said with a sad smile and turned to leave. "After all," she said with her back turned, "neither of you were mine to begin with." The door swung shut behind her.  
Cool hands snaked around his waist. "Hey," said a warm voice that went with the cold limbs. Spike melted back into that strong embrace. "How much of last night do you remember?"  
"None." He said with a sad sigh as he turned to face his sire. "Why are you here? How did I get you back? Why don't you hate me? *Do* you hate me? Are you going back to LA."  
"Never hated you, baby, just thought you hated me. And yes, I'm going back to LA and you're coming too, I don't want you here when this war happens. Don't let me lose you again. And this," he said brandishing the suicide letter, "is so scary and fucked up. Don't you ever doubt how important you are. I'll always be right here for you, so don't do something this stupid." Spike nodded slowly, the night's events starting to drizzle back into his skull. "But I need you to be here too. I can't and won't do this alone. You promised me last night I could keep you forever. Mine, ok?"  
"Always yours."  
"Just so long as we're clear."  
"What about the necklace you gave Buffy? Aren't I supposed to be wearing that bloody thing into the scuffle?"  
"I hope this doesn't come off as overly possessive and sire like of me: but there is no fucking way I'm letting you go within 50 square miles of that battlefield."  
"Do you have any idea how safe you make me feel?" said Spike with a soft smile as the broader man pulled him close. "Always love you, my Angelus." 


End file.
